against
by break me like a promise
Summary: She thinks, maybe they shouldn't have gone swimming in the Black Lake last June after she broke up with Ron. Maybe then they would not have gotten caught out after hours. Maybe she wouldn't have made a joke about it being his fault and maybe he would have kept his fists to himself. / Lavender, struggling to keep her head up.


**author's note: This is for Cheeky Slytherin Lass's PostSecret Challenge**

 **trigger warning: details an abusive relationship**

She used to be fascinated by how she walked. She pictured her muscles contracting and expanding, bones and joints aching together under her weight. She walked heel to toe, like everyone else, with a slight heel on her close-toed black shoes that melted into her robes.

That was before the stairs of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory took her miraculous tibia bone and snapped it clean in two. Madame Pomfrey mended it in a second, but something about it never healed quite right. Maybe it was her piece of mind that shattered.

/

She decided when she was eleven, right before she boarded the train, that her favorite color would be black. How dare her mother name her after two colors, and for no reason at all. Lavender was her favorite color, really, but that was just screaming for someone to call her out, people would snicker, everyone would talk about her, etc., etc. It would go how it always did.

Except that it didn't.

"Brown, Lavender," became the first student sorted into Gryffindor, followed by a round of cheers and suddenly she was smiling so much that her teeth began to ache.

/

Parvati Patil slept in the bunk next to her. The four-poster bed with its ugly red Gryfindor-esque colored curtains left Lavender with no privacy, and it was clear she was not the only one who couldn't sleep. Her pillow was perfectly cool whenever she flipped it over, and she never looked at the clock but could hear it ticking. She heard a sigh from her right and pulled the curtain open.

Parvati is staring straight up at the ceiling, with her wide dark eyes. "I can't sleep," she whispers to Lavender, as if she didn't already know. "Come somewhere with me," she says suddenly, springing up from her own bed.

Lavender follows. Maybe this Parvati girl could be a friend. They wander up to the Astronomy Tower, sneaking past portraits that were still awake from the night's festivities. They're all too drunk to notice two eleven year olds up way past their bedtime. They get lost four times and end up somewhere near the kitchens, but the stars are shining and the cloud cover that was present as the Hogwarts Express rolled in has passed.

Parvati talks way too fast and Lavender listens patiently as this complete stranger rattles on about the classes she's excited to take and how she'd one day like to be a Professor, but she isn't sure what subject she would possibly want to teach because even though she grew up in a house of wizards, there's so much to learn.

It is two in the morning when Lavender lays back down in her bed, thinking that this might actually be the place for her.

/

Her first years at Hogwarts are like the swish and flick of a wand. They are quick and relatively easy. She stands side by side with her classmates through loss and triumph, and passes OWLs with ease. She arrives at year six with no knowledge that this year will change her life. She briefly dates Ron Weasley, and their relationship burns bright and then burns out. She is sure that she will never find someone as good or as kind, and then she does, for a little while.

/

The first bruise she gets from his fists is lavender a few days later, and she thinks it might be pretty if it didn't hurt so badly. It looks like it might never fade, and she curses the poems she's read about how violence can be beautiful or whatever because that wasn't even close to the reality she was experiencing.

She shuts herself in a stall in the Gryffindor girl's bathroom and readjusts her perfectly adjusted top so she can see it in all its black and blue and purple glory. It's just under her collarbone, and it's technically still summer and everyone is taking every chance to wear anything but their black robes and god forbid she draws attention to herself by going against the norm.

She knows if she cries, someone will hear her. And she can't admit that it has actually happened. This is Michael Corner. He's one of the year's golden boys, potions whiz, a member of Dumbledore's Army. And she is Lavender Brown, notoriously clumsy and foolish. He might say she tripped at a strange angle and she would go along with it, because she has some sort of laryngitis that has rendered her incapable of speaking the truth.

She heard Luna Lovegood can mend toes with a quick flick of her wand, and Lavender herself has an inclination towards potentially becoming a Healer. She's never heard of anything for a bruise. And her preference for make-up is nearly non-existent, which makes the only option hiding this hand-size bruise under her black tee-shirt.

/

"Here's the thing, though, Lav. My essay is five inches too short. Binns won't care that it's some of my best work." Parvati is talking a million miles a minute. "And the witch hunt of the Middle Ages was such an important period for us, I'd hate for him to think I've diminished it by arguing that Purebloods were part of the problem- Lav? Are you listening?"

It is 3AM in the Gryffindor Common Room. They are at a table around the fireplace, but it's still too early and too warm to be used. Lavender is wearing a pair of too-long pajama pants and her collarbone has long-since healed, but at least three more have turned up in the same spot and disappeared, too.

Lavender doesn't miss a beat. "No, I think your position is unexpected. He needs that in his life. That, or he'll hate it because he might have to use a tone other than monotony." They both crack a smile, and Lavender continues. "Maybe his eyesight is so poor, he won't be able to tell that it's too short."

She laughs so hard that her cheeks feel sore, like they haven't been used this vigorously in a while. The portrait door opens when she is in mid-snort- a habit he tells her is unattractive, and that she's lucky he started to date her before that made an appearance, because no one else would date her if they knew she snorted when she laughed.

It's not him, but her stomach clenches at the thought that he might have been on the other side of that portrait. She'd like to say that it was exciting to have her boyfriend so close, but a wall had built itself around parts of her. She didn't give him access to her every thought, and he knew it.

/

It is the middle of November. Snow hasn't started falling, but the temperature has dropped considerably. The bruises on her legs and arms and neck have become just another feature of her body. The reflection she saw in the mirror was starting to scare her at any rate. Her eyes looked like that of a dead person, more grey than blue.

She spends more and more of her time in the Hogwarts Library. She is taking an Independent Study with Professor Sprout on healing herbs, and she was grateful that it was so time-consuming. Michael could understand academics. He couldn't understand why she would ever choose to hang out with Parvati or spend any more time than necessary sleeping or getting ready or eating, for that matter.

When she received her first "Exceeds Expectations," he planned a picnic for them on the Great Lawn, overlooking the Black Lake. He was a little taken aback as to why it wasn't an "Outstanding" grade, as Lavender had spent every free minute of the last week writing it, and he had hardly seen her at all outside of class.

He walks her out of the castle's large front doors. They're not supposed to be out on the grounds, but Michael had a way of charming Professor Slughorn to vouch for them if someone called them out. She shivers, and he puts an arm around her. She finds herself holding her breath. His touch is natural and sweet, for now. She breathes.

The sun, of course, is setting just as they eat their treacle tarts- he's a big believer in the dessert first philosophy. He holds his up to hers, and then he toasts her. "Lav, I'm so proud of you. What an amazing feat. To you being the world's greatest Healer."

She smiles. "And next, Outstanding." They let the treacle tarts melts into their mouths, and then he opens the picnic basket, which is filled with all of her favorites- classic creamy peanut butter and grape jam sandwiches with crusts cut off, mashed potatoes with the gravy that fills her mouth with the perfect amount of salt. She chases it down with a bit of pumpkin juice, careful not to make a slurping noise.

He tells her stories of the NEWT Potions class he's in, about Ernie Macmillan, spilling a powerful sleeping draught that caused poor Anthony Goldstein to fall backwards and end up in the Hospital Wing. Lavender gasps, asking if he's okay, but Michael laughs, saying, "Of course he is, babe. It was funny. You can laugh at it, you know."

She grimaces. "I don't think it's funny," she says, knowing she should not under any circumstances, be arguing with him like this, about this. "I'm… I'm going to be a Healer, you know, so… It's not funny to me."

Without missing a beat, he wonders out loud how they found each other, with her exceeding lack of a sense of humor. And then, he digs in. "I don't know how you think you might be a Healer on day. Exceeds Expectations isn't what you need. You need Outstanding, and even Neville Longbottom got one from Professor Sprout, which just shows she's an easy grader. You say you worked really hard on this essay, but I think you may have been avoiding me. Is that true?"

"No, not at all," she squeaks out, the words barely escaping her lips before she braces for impact.

But it doesn't come.

Michael's black hair is all tangled and covering his face, like it does every time he gets mad, but the wind is making it worse. She blinks, startled more by the lack of pain she's experiencing. And then she hears: "What are two young students like yourselves doing out here on a cold day like this?"

Lavender is amazed by her good fortune, but when she turns around, it's none other than Headmaster Snape, his robes billowing behind him. Her heart sinks. He is walking towards them, and Michael stands. She's afraid of Snape, of course, but she's more afraid of what Michael might say, and she is right.

"Headmaster Snape. Lavender here wanted to celebrate her latest Exceeds Expectations in her Independent study with Professor Sprout. I told her it wasn't a good idea, with the current… er, state of things, but she insisted." Lavender's eyes widen. She should have expected it might be this bad.

"Exceeds Expectations is nothing to celebrate, Ms. Brown. You both have a week's detention, and twenty points will be deducted from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."

She watches as if this life is someone else's while her boyfriend grabs the picnic basket. She's relieved that his hands are full, but they won't be for very long. She follows him inside, through the large doors. He can't hold the door for her, so it slams on to her right shoulder. She cries out, and then bites her lip, hoping he didn't hear her. It's just one more thing on top of every other thing that has gone wrong.

He doesn't hit her that night. They are sent straight to their dormitories, and the Headmaster waves his wand and the picnic disappears to the kitchens. She climbs the stairs slowly while Michael takes a different staircase to the fifth floor.

Parvati meets her at the opening to the Common Room. The new password is _E_ _pluribus unum_ , which reminds her that she has to let Michael know. He always needs their password. "How was dinner?"

She wants to tell her it was great, but she's never been a good liar, so she says, "Not good. Headmaster Snape put me in detention for a week. Michael, too." She can't tell if the yawn that escapes her mouth is to let her out of the conversation, or if she actually is tired.

"What about Slughorn? Didn't he-"

"I don't know," she says miserably. "Listen, I'm going to bed. We've got a long day tomorrow."

/

Lavender is assigned to cleaning trophies in the awards room. Michael is assigned to helping Professor Slughorn in the back storage room, which, Lavender knows, will mainly just be the two of them talking about Potions and school and the war, and whatever else they want to. Lavender is alone, something she feels too much of these days.

She is in the middle of polishing a silver trophy for the Quidditch Cup winner- Slytherin, 1967- when Michael strides into the room, his robes flowing behind him, as if he ran there. "Hi," she says, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. And then he closes the door.

Her lower jaw starts to swell the second he walks out of the room, and she polishes the trophies with a little extra vigor, as if working harder will help her ignore the feeling that her boyfriend just took a swing at her face, completely and one hundred percent visible to the world.

She is glad he closed the door on the way out, because she needs a few minutes to herself. There is no fall or accident that could cause this. Her hair can't cover it, because it's so smack-dab in the middle. She knows there is an upcoming trip to Hogsmeade, and maybe she could borrow a bit of makeup from a friend until then-

No. That means there would be questions. She couldn't have that. She glances at the clock. It is half past five, and Michael is at Quidditch practice now. The library wouldn't close until ten, and she… well, detention was over.

Her feet drag her to the library. She keeps her head down, quite literally, and finds herself alone in a section she's frequented a few dozen times: Magical Maladies. She scans the titles, hoping something might pop out at her. _A Witch's Guide to Warts, Boils, Acne, and Moles_ , _A History of Malady Malpractice, How to Cure the Side Effects of Hexes and the Like, Muggle Ailments and How to Cure Them Using Magic, Things That Go Bump in the Night: Dark Hexes and Jinxes and What to Do About Them_ …

And then the gold lettering of _Concealing Illnesses and Ailments, Muggle and Magical_ by Rupert Franksom finds itself in her hands. She'd like to take it back to her dorm, find somewhere to hole up and pour over it, but she feels like Michael has ways. He could see that she checked it out with Madame Pince, so she stuffs it in her bag and checks out a different book for good measure, keeping her face down in a piece of parchment, as if she was rereading an essay.

She thinks the Room of Requirement might be good, but the seventh floor seems like too far for her to walk when all she really wants is to curl up in bed. She takes it one stair at a time, making sure her jaw is buried in her collar and passes a few people but says nothing to no one. So she finds herself in the middle stall of the girl's dormitory once again, her knees crammed up on the edge of the toilet seat. She tries not to breathe, or to turn the pages too loudly, and hears no less than fifteen girls come in a try to use that stall, and finally one says, "The middle stall is locked. _Alohomora_ won't work, because well, you know. Privacy, and all that. So I'll let Filch know in the morning."

 _Oh, Merlin._ She flips through the front pages to the table of contents. _Chapter 13. Bumps and Bruises: Magical Objects, Muggle Artifact Malfunctions, and Human Disasters._ She's almost surprised when she opens to it; her face is not the definition of Human Disaster like she thought it would be.

She finds bruises under _common injuries_. There's a series of spells to try, each with a description. She points her eleven and a half inch, dragon heartstring core wand on Michael's latest work, and whispers _colare_.

To her surprise, it vanishes in the mirror, and she breathes a sigh. She touches the spot tenderly, and shrinks back. The pain is still there in her jaw. But she can't see it. No one can see it.

/

Lavender starts vomiting blood the next day, and is immediately sent out of Charms class to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey doesn't usually ask a lot of questions, but today she fires at Lavender with _What have you eaten? Are you having any pain? Overextended yourself in your classes with certain spells? Have you been around anything toxic or dangerous?_

She bites her tongue on the last one just as he strolls in, playing his part of worried boyfriend perfectly. "What happened?" She can feel his eyes on her face and then her jaw, and his eyes widen slightly as he realizes she is unblemished.

"I don't know," she says miserably. She nods towards the bucket sitting on her lap to catch anything that might come up. "Madame Pomfrey thinks it might be something I ate," she says, because she's still in earshot.

The second she steps away to complete Lavender's chart, Michael leans in. "What did you do? Did you tell?"

His hair is so long she has to spit it out of her mouth before answering. "No, of course not." He gestures to her face. "It's make-up," she says, hoping he'll buy it. He's not stupid enough to rub it off just to prove it's there in the first place. He thinks for a minute before nodding.

"I didn't see you last night after practice," he says, slightly louder, as if they were a normal couple having a normal conversation.

"I was in the library," she says, and it is the truth. "I think Professor Binns is going to drop another long essay on us, or at least that's what he's hinting at. We've been discussing wizards that have caused some of the biggest disasters in history, which is obviously a huge topic this year. The burning of Rome, the French Revolution as a clash between Muggles and wizards… There's a lot to choose from, and I want to be smart about it." It's also the truth, but it's not the reason she was there.

"The burning of Rome," he says, eyes on hers. "That'd be cool. What about doing the atomic "bomb"? That'd be really interesting, although you'd probably have to do a lot of research on the States." He sits on the edge of her bed, near her head. He rests his hand on hers over the blankets, and she's glad there's still a whole layer between them.

Madame Pomfrey comes back with a long list in her hand. "Mr. Corner, I need to ask you to leave. Sensitive medical information is being discussed, and unless Ms. Brown allows it, I cannot have you here while we do this intake interview."

Lavender's eyes widen, and Michael's lock with hers. "He's fine to stay." She's not sure if Madame notices her hesitation, but at any rate, she says, "I'll need you to fill out some paperwork allowing him access to even be in here at this time."

Lavender nods in careful understanding. "Babe, you should go. You've got Carrow's class, and…" Her eyes travel to Madame Pomfrey, who without a doubt knows of the abuses occurring in the department, but she feels she's being watched and doesn't say it out loud. "You shouldn't be late, you know how he gets…"

He blinks. "Are you sure?" He asks lightly, but the subtext is clear: she chose wrong.

She takes a deep breath, and is nearly relieved when she begins coughing, a disgusting mixture of phlegm and blood making their way into the basin held to Lavender's mouth. A few nurses rush over, and another escorts Michael out of the hospital wing before he can protest.

"Oh, dear, Ms. Brown, that's it." Lavender can feel her lungs collapsing on themselves, forcing rust colored blood into the light. She can't be sick. No signs point to illness besides this. And then the nurse palpates her throat and neck, and she cries out in pain.

The bruising hurts more than it did yesterday, and the pain in her lower jaw is at least double. A horrible sinking feeling fills Lavender's abdomen, twisting itself around her blood supply and vital organs. This _cannot_ be happening. There was nothing- _nothing_ \- about the side effects of this spell in the book. She would have read them, right?

And then it hits her. Somewhere along the shelf, the books were categorized as "restricted." She'd never paid much attention to where that line was, and she must have crossed it. She's been getting good at crossing lines these days.

She wakes up some time later on her left side. She can hear the hustle and bustle of the busy Hospital Wing. The door opens suddenly, but she doesn't dare open her eyes. There's some shouting, and then she hears Michael's voice. "I didn't… I didn't mean it… Come on, he's fine! Just a… just a scratch."

Lavender is sure by the sound coming from the injured boy's mouth, it is likely not just a scratch. She's tempted to peek at him, and see what her once-gentle boyfriend has done this time, but she feigns sleep, knowing that is much safer. Madame Pomfrey's nurses are watching her, she knows, but all other eyes are on the boy who has been identified as Roger Davies, one of the toughest Beaters Ravenclaw has seen in decades.

His nose is broken, she decides. Maybe he's tripped over his broomstick. Yes, that must be it. No sane person would injure their own teammate three days before the last match of the fall season.

"Now Mr. Corner, let me see that hand," Mdme. says, disappointment painted in her voice. "I expected something more from you, especially after what I've seen with Ms. Brown. Twice in one day, Mr. Corner, I just don't like it. You're a fine young man, but my word, all your friends are injured! You must be cursed," she says lightly. "The ice will burn, just a bit- what's all this bruising from?"

Lavender doesn't dare open her eyes. She's facing away and her brown hair is covering most of her face. She hardly dares to breathe, because he has ways of knowing, even this far away.

She thinks, maybe, if she had taken better care of her rabbit Binky when she was thirteen, he wouldn't have gotten out of his cage and ran into that fox.

She thinks, maybe, if she had gotten an "Outstanding" on her Independent Study paper, he wouldn't have hit her in the first place, and then maybe she wouldn't be sitting here in this pool of dread.

She thinks, maybe they shouldn't have gone swimming in the Black Lake last June after she broke up with Ron. Maybe then they would not have gotten caught out after hours. Maybe she wouldn't have made a joke about it being his fault and maybe he would have kept his fists to himself.

She thinks, maybe the next trip to Hogsmeade will be perfect to take a minute for herself, and buy a bit of blush for her ashen cheeks and concealer for her face, because clearly the Muggles had it right.

/

"Lav! Lavender! Hey!" The dull hum in her brain is replaced by none other than Parvati Patil. "What the hell happened to you? I heard you were barfing up blood, right in the middle of Charms. I'd have paid you one hundred Galleons if you had aimed at Blaise Zambini. You and Corner end up in the hospital on the same day? And he knocked out Davies with his bare hands! It was one bad play, and during practice, too. Davies is out for Saturday's game? And Michael, well, he fled after that and no one has seen him in hours; Ernie thinks he may have snuck out of the castle so he doesn't have to face the rest of his housemates. He should be hiding, wouldn't you just _die_ if that happened to you?" Parvati stops to blow her dark hair out of her face, and she looks expectantly to Lavender, hoping she has some insider information.

Lavender's brain is overloaded with information. "I wouldn't…" she croaks, her throat dry. Parvati looks at her expectantly. "I wouldn't die if he hit me."

She watches as her best friend's face transforms from confusion to recognition to hopelessness. She places her hand on Lavender's bedsheet, and locates her hand. And they rest like that for a while, and outside it starts to snow.

/

Lavender should have read the fine print because, while the vomiting blood subsides- 24 more hours under Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye- the spell stops working after a mere 36. The next morning, the lower half of her face is black and blue and purple and yellow and just a little green and lavender.

She's glad Michael hasn't visited, or even been seen in class since then. The rumor mill has churned out a new story where he is sick over his actions against Davies and hasn't left his four-poster bed in over a day. She doesn't mind. She's gotten enough word-of-mouth _He's probably worried sick about you, aren't you worried about him, too?, what's going on with you two? I'd be all over a sick boyfriend and you're acting like strangers!_.

Only Parvati has been to her bedside the last day and a half without hesitation. There's a sharp new look in her already dark eyes that makes Lavender think that the second Michael walked in the the hospital wing, he wouldn't be leaving for a while.

Professor Trelawney sent her a sample reading of tea leaves that was supposed to be comforting but she could only read the owl, which "indicates one should not start a new venture" and an acorn for "improved health," which seemed to contradict each other in her current situation.

Madame Pomfrey has become suspicious- and by that, Lavender knows that she knows. She sits at the bedside one night, trying to understand how this seventeen-year-old girl has landed herself in this spot.

"There are a lot of resources for you. Unfortunately, as I think you know, there's nothing that hides bruises quite yet, but maybe a young aspiring Healer like yourself will charm it up. Now that spell… I've seen it a few times, and I really think that book 'ought to be banned to the Restricted section, at the very least." Lavender pushes a brown curl behind her ear, and decides not to bring up that, in fact, that's exactly where it was. "The fine print, Ms. Brown. That spell has caused a lot of trouble for you, and for what? That you can keep hiding? I don't think so." And with that, she gets up and rushes to help a small first year who had gotten a walnut stuck up his nose.

She's been tempted to ask them to not let Michael in when he inevitably does decide to come back from the dead, and then it occurs to her that she is hiding, too. She scared of him and he's scared of everyone else, but more importantly, what he's done.

/

Michael has done a lot of things. He single-handedly rescued a first year who had been tortured in the dungeons, and then suffered a wicked punishment from the Carrow siblings. He still walks with a bit of a limp-he still flies perfectly straight- and has nightmares. He was showcased to any potential rebel: _This is what happens when you go against the ways of the Ministry. Of the Death Eaters. Of Voldemort himself._

And even after that, he snuck out of his seventh floor dormitory one October early morning and graffitied the same wall that had once held the Dark Lord's message of victory over Ginny Weasley. He and a few other potion-whizzes had charmed up a mixture that only glowed brighter when one tried to wash it off, and even after the demolition of the wall, the letter floated in midair for weeks. _Dumbledore's Army: Still Recruiting_.

He once came all the way over to her house during the summer just to meet her mother. Her mother, of course, adored him after hearing the word _Ravenclaw_. Bravery was on thing, but Mrs. Brown could understand brains. She asked him all about his aspirations of being an Auror, and what the classes were like, and wow, everyone in his class was going to be an Auror, so why didn't he try something different, like Wizard Law or Healing, something that required a little more brain power than catching washed up Death Eaters? But by the end of his weekend stay, he had convinced Lavender's mother that becoming an Auror combined both brains and the natural ability he had on the Quidditch field, and did she know that he needed top marks in Potions, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Transfiguration before he even applied to the program? The minute he Flooed out of their living room fireplace, her mother had declared that he was "just perfect," and she couldn't help but agree.

/

She has become an expert on not telling the truth. She is discharged from the Hospital Wing with an "undifferentiated diagnosis," whatever that means. All of her vitals have returned to normal, and she sneaks out of the wing with so much makeup on her face she can hardly move.

It is the last day before she goes home for the Winter Holidays when she sees Michael again. Parvati hasn't left her side in the last few weeks, and slowly, slowly, slowly, Lavender has unravelled bits and pieces of herself to the only person she trusts right now. She wishes that list included herself, but she doesn't know how to just push away the love.

It wasn't like he was a monster. What kind of monster saved eleven year olds and rebelled for good causes? She is walking through the Common Room to her dormitory, and suddenly a chill runs through the hall. She closes the only open window, and the memory the way he looked right before he said he loved her flashed like her brief reflection.

She looks again at the window, and his face doesn't go away. He is here, right behind her. She turns around slowly, focusing on the stairs behind him. He isn't able to get past the door at the top. She just needs to keep it civil until then.

"Hi," she says, trying to keep her voice even. She thinks she might have squeaked. Her hands pull themselves out of her pockets as if she is ready for a fight.

"Hey, Lav," he says, not unkindly. "I haven't seen you in a while." He takes a small step towards her and says, "I missed you." He contemplates taking one more, but ultimately decides against it.

She nods, feeling numb. "I… missed you, too." She pushes a wave of hair out of her eyes and stares at him, taking in his angular jaw and brown eyes. His Patronus is a squirrel. His favorite color is green. His favorite subject is Potions, but as a child he liked Maths and frequently stayed in from recess in his Muggle elementary school to work on extra problems. His father was a muggle, and he worked in the stock market—

"No," she corrects herself. "Get away from me."

She forgot how fast he moved. Within seconds, he is holding an arm around her waist so tightly she swears she can hear a rib crack. Her eyes shut for only an instant, and when she opens them back up, the corridor is spinning. She groans audibly, and then realizes what has happened. Michael's wand is pointed at her, and her response is to reach for it, to break it, is so instantaneous that she doesn't realize it is happening.

Her body is flying in slow motion. He's hexed her, and even though she's fighting, she is in slow motion. And then her vocal chords summon up a yell, a sort of sound she can't explain, but it sounds like her soul leaving her body. When she looks up next, he is on the top stair. She could run after him, and the barrier wouldn't let him in to the dorm. Or they could take this back into the Common Room, in view of all of their peers.

There is no good way to do this, to get herself out of this. She hopes someone heard her, but she can sense the fact that no one is running to her aid. She has to fight this one alone.

She feels any sort of common sense she might have had leaving her, and she crosses the first stair, gripping onto the handrail so hard her knuckles turn a ghostly white. She naïvely thinks she could still talk it out, and that no one will get hurt, but here they are at the top of a staircase and it is inevitable.

/

She wakes up in the same damn bed and she would like to think this is a dream but the aches and pain shooting up from her left leg. Her mind moves to the clinical things she knows. Based on the location of the pain, her tibia has been broken, maybe snapped in two. The tibia is connected to the patella on the one side and the fibula along the side, connected by tendons.

Madame Pomfrey sees she is awake and walks over slowly. She informs her patient that her leg has been healed, and the pain might be there for a few days, and does she remember what happened? Ms. Patil is probably pacing around, waiting to be let in to tell her exactly how events unfolded, and does Lavender need anything? Someone to talk to? Lavender declines all offers for the moment, and before she leaves, Madame Pomfrey whispers, "He's forbidden to see you, dear. Facing serious disciplinary action."

/

She could've become a Healer, she thinks. Not anyone world-famous, but maybe she could have had a hand in improving someone's life. She has not lived a full life, she thinks. She fell in love twice. She got some fairly excellent marks. She had the world's greatest best friend and hardly ever told her that.

The last few months had been accompanied by nightmares and avoidance strategies. Michael hadn't been expelled, but the restraining order was magically binding. He couldn't get within twenty feet of her without being pulled back by an invisible force, and the Ministry of Magic had issued the order, which of course, had made its way through the castle.

In a world where the castle had gotten colder and more isolated from the outside world, Lavender herself had become surrounded by pillars of strength and warmth. The first night she dreamed that it had all been a dream and Michael was still in her life, Parvati woke up to the sound of her whimpering and they snuck up to the Astronomy Tower and sipped hot chocolate they had stolen from the kitchens.

Parvati had talked a mile a minute, talking about anything but the war and how after their first Halloween at Hogwarts, after the troll had gotten in, Hermione Granger had told the whole story from beginning to end, did she remember that? And how Hermione said that without Harry and Ron, she wouldn't have lived to tell the tale. The odds were always stacked against them, but somehow they found something to look forward to.

But now Fenir Greyback has bitten her on the neck, and she knows if she survives this, her life will never be the same.

If I survive this, she thinks, I will do anything.

I'd forgive him, she thinks. I'd forgive him.


End file.
